


(don't) save me

by popnographic



Series: Rarepair drabbles [18]
Category: Free!
Genre: Angst, M/M, Possibly Pre-Slash, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5810215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popnographic/pseuds/popnographic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Makoto's been called out to the site of a car crash, and while he always prepares himself for the worst in these situations, he never would've guessed whom he would find behind the steering wheel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(don't) save me

**Author's Note:**

> **Note before reading:**
> 
>  
> 
> As has been tagged, there is a suicide attempt implied in this fic. If you are uncomfortable with subjects like these, I suggest not to read further.

He’d had a little trouble finding his way to the site of the accident, but Makoto and his co-worker finally made it while having almost literally put the pedal to the metal. Thankfully he’s allowed to do that as long as the sirens are on, and it isn’t as if he’s breaking any other traffic rules besides running a red light every once in a while. (He knows it’s very weird that he feels bad about running red lights even in an emergency like this one.)

The grey clouds weigh heavy in the sky, and Makoto knows it’ll probably start raining very soon. If anything, that might just help put out the flames, if there are any. It should probably bother him more that the information he got was severely lacking, but right now, that’s the last thing on his mind. Makoto knows he always has to prepare for the worst, because in that case there’s just room for things to be if even just a little better than initially feared once they get there.

When they arrive, there isn’t anyone there yet, which stresses Makoto out more since they have a lot more work to do. Thankfully he isn’t alone, so he and Suzumura can split up the work they have to do, having one of them seal off the area with cones and yellow tape, while the other begins trying to extract the person in the vehicle. It just so happens that he’s the one who’s put in charge of trying to get the person out of their car, and with his heartbeat thundering in his ears, he hears Suzumura yelling at him to “hurry the fuck up” in case the person inside the car is badly injured.

“Don’t let them die,” he repeats to himself in a low voice as he runs up to the car and places his tools down. The front window is almost completely smashed, probably from the impact of crashing into the tree, and there’s smoke coming from the hood. Judging by the colour of it, Makoto thinks he won’t have to hurry at least in regards to the car, but he has yet to confirm the status of the person inside the car, so he walks up to the side. There’s mud smudged on the driver side window, but through it, Makoto sees a blur of crimson red and pink, and knows the red _definitely_ isn’t the hair colour of the driver, but the pink is.

And when it connects to him that there’s pink hair on the head of the seemingly unconscious driver, he sees everything else; the style of clothing which _still_ hasn’t changed after all these years, the unchanged hairstyle since back then. When it hits him like a brick to the side of his face, Makoto gasps.

“Kisumi,” he says out loud to himself, and feels like the ground might disappear beneath his feet at any second now. He hasn’t seen Kisumi in _years_ , and this is how and when he sees him again. Stuck in a car crashed into a tree, having gone through the guard rails near one of the quieter roads right outside town. Makoto doesn’t know just _how_ to react, because there are so many questions and worries going through his head at the same time, and he doesn’t know how to sort them out, how to calm himself down.

He notes the little decoration hanging from the rear view mirror; it looks like an angel with a foam ball for its head, pipe cleaners for the halo and wings, and some type of cloth for the white dress, and Makoto hopes it might bring Kisumi luck. He knows it’s incredibly naïve of him, but it’s one of the very few ways for him to keep himself from being pessimistic, and from assuming he won’t be able to save Kisumi in time.

Just as Makoto’s about to knock on the window to see if Kisumi’s at least conscious, the medics arrive, standing at a safe distance behind him. He feels their eyes on his back, and decides he can find out after he’s gotten the guy out whether or not he’s still alive. Because right now, he has to assume Kisumi still _is_ alive, if maybe just unconscious from the crash. It took him a long time after having started to work within this profession to develop that kind of mindset, and while it is still difficult to deal with sometimes, he knows it’s essential to be able to keep himself sane and to actually perform his job.

It takes a lot of time and patience, and at some point, Suzumura joins in to help Makoto open up the roof more in order to gain better access to the apparently—but not unsurprisingly—unconscious driver.

“You think you can squeeze in?” Suzumura asks as he bends back the roof a bit, and Makoto bites his lower lip in hesitation he shouldn’t be feeling in this situation.

“Yeah,” he finally responds. “I’ll go. Can you check if there’s fuel leaking or something? Just to make sure we don’t just have seconds to get him out.”

Suzumura nods, and quickly disappears to leave Makoto to continue trying to get his childhood friend out of the car. He’s bleeding profusely from his head, and upon further, very quick, inspection, Makoto detects a phone on the seat next to him. It might be good for evidence, so he decides to leave it for the police to collect later, and then puts his hands in under Kisumi’s arms to try and lift him. He isn’t super heavy, but Makoto had almost expected that, given the fact that they used to be of the same build and height back in high school, and Makoto’s more than used to lifting things or people even heavier than himself.

“You need help?!”

Makoto looks up, and Suzumura’s back, looking in through the now opened roof. “I’m fine, I can handle this. Just alert the medics I’ll be out in a few so they can take him to the hospital as soon as possible. He looks really hurt.”

“Fuck. Okay, yeah. Just shout if you need help!”

Suzumura disappears again, and Makoto lifts Kisumi up into his arms. He looks out the window at the people on the other side, at the medic team, at Suzumura joining them, and prays to whatever deity actually exists as he stands up, one foot on the dashboard, ready to get out of what could’ve been a very dangerous vehicle extrication. He’s more than eager to hand Kisumi over to the medics, because he knows that if there’s anyone that can guarantee his survival, it’s them.

 

* * *

 

He hates the sound of the clock ticking on his wall and the sound of the occasional drip from the tap in his kitchen sink, because it’s too loud. He hates the sound of cars going by outside his window, because it reminds him of the fact that people have _lives_ , unlike himself. These days, his so-called life is work, eat and sleep. That’s all he ever does, because everyone he used to call a friend is like one of those people in the cars going by outside his window. They lead their own lives, which are vastly different from his own. Way more exciting, that’s for sure.

Not that Makoto regrets his choice of work field, absolutely not—he just wishes there was more to it than just working and then coming home to eat, take a shower and go to bed.

He starts thinking about Kisumi, and how their first ‘reunion’ in several years had been Makoto rescuing him from a car wreck. Kisumi probably doesn’t even _know_ Makoto was the one to get him out of the crashed car—what would he say or do? Makoto has no idea why he’s even going, but he feels like it has less to do with his duty as the fireman who rescued Kisumi, and more as a thing that friends do, because that _is_ what friends do, right?

Makoto makes it to the hospital in less than ten minutes after having gotten up from his spot by the kotatsu. The woman in the reception is friendly, immediately points him at where he needs to go without asking further questions. When he’s finally there, right outside of the room assigned to Shigino Kisumi, he isn’t so sure about the whole thing anymore.

What if Kisumi just flat-out rejects him? What if he doesn’t remember or recognise Makoto? There are many things that makes Makoto hesitate on turning the doorknob and walking in, but he decides—after what feels like an eternity and a half—to finally just lightly knock on the door, walk inside, and do what he originally came for. To see an old friend in the hospital.

The bright fluorescent light of the hospital room makes Makoto squint when he opens the door to walk in. The room is empty as far as get well-gifts and other things go, and it feels… cold, impersonal and like there _isn’t_ a person lying in the hospital bed following a car crash. He clears his throat, and Kisumi, who had been looking out the window up until just now, faces him.

“Hey,” Makoto offers lamely. “It’s… been a while.”

Kisumi’s eyes seem distant, not as bright as they used to be, and it scares Makoto. It’s like looking at a stranger, and maybe that’s what they’ve become after all of these years without any sort of contact. Makoto feels bad, because he knows it takes two in keeping a friendship alive, and he’s very much as responsible for it as Kisumi has been.

“Hey. Yeah… yeah, it has.”

He feels out of place, like maybe he shouldn’t really be here, and maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe Kisumi just really wants to be alone, and that the lack of gifts around the room is a testament to this. And it really throws Makoto off with how cold and unapproachable Kisumi is, scarily blending in with the atmosphere of the room in general.

“I don’t know if you know this, but I… was the one who got you out of the car. And I wanted to… see how you were doing.”

Kisumi’s gaze falls to the blanket covering him from the waist down, and Makoto watches him clench his right fist. “Is that required?”

“What?”

“That you check up on people you… save. Because you’re a firefighter.”

 

_“Listen, Tachibana… The police said it might not have been an accident.”_

_Makoto frowns. “What do you mean?”_

_“Your friend,” the captain sighs. He seems tired, and not just because of lack of sleep. Makoto can’t blame him. “His crash. They think he did it on purpose.”_

 

Makoto flinches at the memory of the conversation he’d had with his captain the other day, and several pieces fall in place into the puzzle regarding Kisumi’s car crash. Why would Kisumi deliberately crash his car? None of it makes sense, none of it matches with the image and perception Makoto has of his childhood friend, but he assumes it’s probably due for a change now that it’s been so long. This just isn’t the kind of change he’d wanted.

“No, it’s not required. Did you think it was?”

Kisumi clenches his jaw, and stays silent. Makoto sighs quietly through his nose, and goes to grab the chair by the door to place down in front of the hospital bed. Hopefully he won’t get kicked out soon, and he’ll really have to play his cards right in order to prevent that from happening, he realises.

“You don’t think I’d come see you regardless? We’re friends, Kisumi.”

He nearly hesitates before saying ‘friends’, wondering if Kisumi still considers them as such after all this time. Makoto certainly does, because there was never really anything that made them have a falling out, they never fought or argued, things just ran out in the sand between them, and they drifted apart both emotionally and geographically when Makoto moved to Tokyo for university.

Kisumi lets out a short laugh through his nose, though there isn’t any joy or humour in it. “You know, I haven’t seen any of you guys since high school. What kind of friendship is that, where people don’t talk or see each other?”

“That goes both ways, Kisumi. You could’ve called.”

“So could you! You know, not everything’s that easy, it’s not just a matter of picking up the phone and going ‘hey, how are you, let’s hang out’. And maybe… maybe I had my reasons for not contacting anyone. You ever thought about that?”

“So you didn’t want to?” Makoto asks, voice low, hesitant. He doesn’t see even a glimpse of the Kisumi he used to know in the man sitting in front of him right now, and it frightens him. He wonders what happened, why things turned out this way, but feels like if he were to ask, Kisumi most definitely wouldn’t answer him.

“Of course I did! I really did, but I couldn’t. I was scared, Makoto.”

“Scared?”

“That things might change. That you’d think differently of me once we were out of the school environment, and that you wouldn’t want me around anymore. And why would you, when we didn’t even go to the same school after elementary and only saw each other every once in a while?”

Makoto stands up, the chair scraping against the floor as he pushes it back. “Are you saying you’re not important to us? To me? Why would you belittle yourself so much?”

“Because none of you ever gave me a reason not to.”

He goes silent, snaps his mouth shut. Kisumi’s returned to looking out the window, and Makoto wonders if this is where he should leave. Kisumi isn’t really telling him to, and he doesn’t _want_ to leave, either, so he assumes he can still stay. This is far from over, and his old self who was scared of conflicts is now nowhere to be seen. This is a conflict he knows he _has_ to deal with, because he can’t afford to lose Kisumi. Not again.

“I wish you hadn’t saved me.”

It’s a low murmur Makoto nearly misses, but when he realises what Kisumi’s just muttered, his heart stops, and he stares at Kisumi in shock.

“Why?”

“Because living is exhausting.”

Makoto wants to say something back, but he can’t find the right words. What _are_ the right words to say in this situation? Encouraging ones? Should he continue to question Kisumi and his cryptic sentences? Whichever he chooses would guarantee him getting kicked out, and he probably wouldn’t be able to see Kisumi again with the way things are going right now, so Makoto chooses to not question it.

He thinks back to the little angel hanging from Kisumi’s rear-view mirror, and wonders if the nurses had given it to Kisumi like Makoto had requested, or if they threw it out. Maybe Kisumi did, who knows. Makoto can’t spot it anywhere in the room, and he hopes Kisumi’s just put it away somewhere instead of getting rid of what must’ve been a gift from his brother.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a while. “I’m sorry I took you for granted, Kisumi. I always assumed you were strong, because you seemed like it. You always made people laugh, you were there for us, supported us. And I… don’t think I did a good job of returning the favour.”

Kisumi sighs. “You really haven’t changed at all, have you? You always have to include everyone else, too, but only up until the point where it’s time for someone to take the blame, and you take it all upon yourself like a goddamn martyr.”

His words sting like a hundred tiny daggers shot right into his chest, and Makoto winces at the harshness of them. Wishes there was something he could do about it, to soften the blow, take things back and change the past to the point where it wouldn’t put them in this situation.

“I can’t help but blame myself, Kisumi,” he replies. “I _am_ partly to blame for this, after all. And I’m not saying this because I want pity or anything, but you’re not really the only one who’s felt left out since then.”

This time, Kisumi looks back at Makoto, but his expression is completely blank, as if he’d almost expected Makoto to say those things. “Why?”

“I’ve talked to Rin maybe three times since he moved to Australia, and that was six years ago. I don’t know where Sousuke is. Haru’s always busy with work, and while I do call him every once in a while to talk, I just feel like I’m bothering him in doing so. Gou’s really the only one I talk to these days, but she has a life of her own, too. I—I miss you. I miss them, all of it. Things were so much easier back then.”

“We were kids, Makoto.”

“I know that. There are just so many things I regret I did and didn’t do, and I think it’s too late for that now. You were… one of my biggest regrets.”

Kisumi snorts. “Thanks.”

“Not like that,” Makoto says hurriedly. “I’m saying there are many things I wish I would’ve said and done but never did, because I was scared, and because I didn’t think you felt the same.”

“There goes one of your old habits again. Assuming things. If you would’ve asked, you would’ve known. And I did.”

Makoto feels a tiny spark of hope ignite within him, but is careful not to let it grow into a full fire in case it might burn him in the end. “Can I try to make it up to you?”

“Makoto, I don’t need your pity—“

“It’s not pity. It’s going out for coffee and hanging out, if you want to,” Makoto says. He places his hand over Kisumi’s bandaged fist, and while Kisumi recoils at the sudden contact, he doesn’t pull away. He does look down at their joined hands with that blank expression, though, and Makoto knows he still isn’t in the clear.

“I’m not your damn project, Makoto. Just because you pulled me out of a car doesn’t mean you owe me coffee and a heartfelt conversation. You can’t just magically fix me, you know. Also, if you think you or any of the others are the reason behind… this, you’re wrong. Okay?”

“Okay,” Makoto replies ever so hesitantly. Maybe it should make him feel at least a little relieved, but he feels anything but. “Kisumi, I know you aren’t my project. I’m not doing this for self-satisfaction, I care about you, I really do. And I just want to show you why you shouldn’t belittle yourself so much.”

“And what about you? Are you still allowed to do so?”

Makoto smiles awkwardly and scratches himself behind the ear. “I’m still working on my bad habits, and this is one of them. So… what do you say? Coffee?”

He knows it’d take him a long, _long_ time to even consider himself in the clear. He knows he can’t fix another person, and that isn’t what he’s trying to do. If there’s anything he’s trying to fix, it’s all of the lost time and opportunities he could’ve gotten with Kisumi back then, and if that makes him selfish, then so be it. Kisumi isn’t spineless; he’d definitely say no if he didn’t want to.

So it surprises Makoto when he doesn’t, when Kisumi accepts the offer. The two decide to meet for coffee in three days from now, following Kisumi’s discharge, and coffee is all there is to it. He knows not to expect much from it, but it’s a start. A _restart_ , maybe. And if it doesn’t work out, then he’ll at least know he’s tried. He might not know the reasons behind everything, and he might _never_ know, but Makoto hopes whatever reason he might have had for it will eventually become something of the past that no longer applies, no longer tempts.

He can’t fix Kisumi, but he can offer support, and hopefully, _hopefully_ , that’ll be good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Iska](http://iskabee.tumblr.com) for the idea. ❤
> 
> \--
> 
> [radiodread](http://radiodread.tumblr.com) @ tumblr


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